Nothing But The Deepest Love
by Nerweniel
Summary: Based on "Pride and Prejudice", by Jane Austen. The diary notes of twenty-year-old Minerva McGonagall; her complaints about her life as a spoilt, rich young lady, but most of all, her frustration about one arrogant weathy bachelor. ADMM
1. June 7th

**Nothing But The Deepest Love**

June 7th 1940

Dear Diary,

I do believe mother has gone entirely crazy now. Not that that is something new, of course, but still. This time, there's a reason behind her folly, though. Only this morning, a piece of rather interesting- at least, for her- news reached our ears. The Mansion Merlin, as the estate next to ours is called, has been bought again. Not by a family, though, like last time, but by a considerably young man, and, what's more important, he is unmarried.

Now I can understand mother's enthusiasm, to a certain degree. When a woman has five unmarried daughters at home- or at least, three daughters and two adopted nieces- then she naturally shows a rather keen interest for wealthy young bachelors. But, as usual, she's overdoing it. She's asked Daddy- who has, luckily, some more common sense than she has- to go visit him, and very "subtly" invite him over to dinner. Now please, come on, how obvious can you be?

Thank God I am but the second on her list- but poor Poppy indeed! Poppy, which is, believe it or not, the real name of my eldest sister, is two years my senior, she's twenty-two, and mom has wanted to get her a husband for ages. As if Poppy would ever become an old maid, which is mother's greatest fear! Come on, she's the prettiest and the overall nicest of the five of us, as mother very well knows. She's a blonde, contrary to me, and she has the sweetest temper you have ever seen.

Anyway, I know all mother's hopes for her are focused on this new "opportunity", but for heaven's sake, she plans on dragging me into this too.

Both Sybill and Rolanda are, of course, still rather young, and Serena, a year and a half my junior, doesn't have time for something like "men" between her stars and planets, but why oh why does that mean I am labelled "to be married soon" too?

I am not pretty, I know, with my thick, black hair and those green cat-eyes of mine, but I have to admit I have never truly cared. Even though I was sorted into Gryffindor, I've always rather liked to read and to learn, but what I would have preferred as a job choice would have been either an Auror or a teacher. Unfortunately, there doesn't exist anything like a "job choice" for young girls in the world I live in. I am a rich young lady, so all I "have" to do is sit and wait until one handsome young prince lifts me up, puts me on a horse and drags me along to a fairytale paradise where I would probably be bored beyond reason.

The same goes for the "dinner with the bachelor" which has, so Poppy has just informed me with worry in her eyes, been arranged for tomorrow night...

Yours sincerely,

Minerva Caitriona McGonagall


	2. June 8th

June 8th 1940

Dear Diary,

It's late and I should be going to bed soon, but I need to express at least some of my feelings of today, and especially, of this evening, and Pops, who is my usual "confidante", is for once not fit for the task of listening to me. She's too good for this world, and I really do need to spit it all out. We had our promised dinner with this new neighbour tonight. He calls himself Mr. Alastor Pomfrey, and I have to admit he is not as bad as I had expected. He's still young, but not too young, and he is certainly not a stupid man. Poppy is rather fond of him already, I believe, mother will like that. But no, my sarcasm is misplaced here- he is quite nice, after all, and dear Poppy does deserve every inch of happiness she can get.

It was not Mr. Pomfrey who irritated me into this diary note, you know- nor his sister, a totally brainless, unmarried girl of about twenty-four. It was his companion, actually.

They told me his name was Dumbledore, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. I know what you are thinking, believe me. What a name. He's rather rich, or so I have understood, and he's a bachelor as well.  
Yet, mother does not like him, and yes, that is supposed to ring a bell.  
My mother, Mrs. Marianne Eleanor McGonagall, likes every single young bachelor with a minimum of fortune and not even a minimum of sense. That's about a rule of life over here, and the fact that she doesn't adore him in a highly idiotic way is one of the strongest doubts as to his general amiability one can ever hear.

He hardly spoke one word at dinner, and in the beginning, it was charming- Daddy doesn't say very much either- but in the end, it turned out to be a highly impolite character trait. Mother says he thinks he's better than we are, and I can quite imagine that is true. Not that I care, though. He isn't even excessively handsome, and the proof of his intelligence, too, is yet to be seen.

On a happier note, at least for the younger of my sisters, Mr. Pomfrey has announced that he plans on giving a ball one day or another. That, along with the ball at Sprout Hall that's due for next Monday, has driven Sybill and Rolanda nothing less than wild with enthusiasm. Of course, since they're both still Hogwarts students and have just arrived at home for the Summer Break, they deserve a little fun, but still I'm rather worried about the both of them. Rolanda- the youngest and my real sister- is a lively sixteen year old, but she's also not as studious as she should be and very much obsessed by Quidditch and broomstick-flying. Not that that in itself is bad, naturally, but well, you know what I mean. Sybill, who's not my real sister, is almost worse, except for the fact that she's not Quidditch-, but Divination-obsessed. Let's hope that is a passing stage, because really...

Of course I understand she still suffers a lot from the death of her parents, three years ago, which left her under the care of mine. Charles and Marcia Trelawney, my late uncle and aunt, were murdered along with my other aunt and uncle, Roderick and Angela Sinistra, in the great London mass murder of 1937. They say it was a sect of wizards and witches- they call them "the dark side", but nothing has been proved since then, nor has anyone been arrested.

I can imagine that the death of her parents has affected Sybill, but still I don't know. She's such a totally... air-headed, young girl, and I know that's nothing bad, but... Oh anyway, I'm just a worried older sister, okay?

Anyway, she and Rolanda are delighted about the upcoming balls- but I would almost give my wand to not have to go. Almost, because my wand and the fact that there's still a secret- God, if mum ever finds out!- Animagus training going on, are the only things that keep me mentally healthy.

And oh no, dear diary, I am not unhappy.

It just seems so.

Sincerely,

Minerva Caitriona


	3. June 9th

June 9th 1940

Dear Diary,

I can hardly believe it- this is my third diary note in three days! When aunt Vanora gave me this red, leather-covered book as a Christmas present and assured me it would prove to be very useful to me, I merely rolled my eyes and half-heartedly thanked her, more out of propriety than anything else. Yet it seems as if good old auntie Nora once more knew her favourite niece better than that niece herself did.

She was right, this is useful- I am actually enjoying this. My only friends over here are my eldest sister and Sylvia, the eldest daughter of the Sprouts, who is some years my senior. But Poppy is such an absolute angel- always looking for excuses for everyone's behaviour- and Sylvia lives more than half a mile away. I can floo in and out at will, that I know, but it is different.

So all left to me is this diary, and really, I need it.

Rolanda and Sybill are very young, okay, but their constant giggling just gives me headaches, you know. I can't remember whether I was such a total idiot at sixteen. I don't think I was, actually. I'm sorry, I know I am no saint myself, but sometimes... God... Rolanda is all excited, even more so than Sybill, and, being mother's favourite, she's encouraged as well. Mother, and I'm sorry to say it, is her own, stupid self again. Rolanda isn't a bad girl, nor is Sybill, but if mother keeps spoiling them the way she does. Then again, they're both exact copies of my mom in one way or another, so perhaps that's her reason. But really, it is as if mother wants Rolanda to become stupider than she already is. "I think Mr. Pomfrey will certainly dance with my little Ro!" she bragged to father. And then Rolanda "Yes, because, though I am the youngest, I am the tallest!". I know father had to suppress a sigh, and I can totally understand him. Being excited about a ball is probably something normal for young women, and that probably makes me the abnormal one, but actually, what's a ball more than a bunch of husbands seeking wives and a bunch of wives seeking husbands? Why does everybody desperately want a marriage, I wonder? Really, it isn't as if it solves all your problems- just look at poor father! I, Minerva Caitriona McGonagall, solemnly swear this: nothing but the deepest love will ever induce me into matrimony.

I am twenty, and unmarried, but does that make me a sad, old spinster? No, it does not. Sometimes I feel as if I still live in the medieval age. When I was at Hogwarts, I lived in such a totally different world. Some of my female classmates actually planned on starting a career of their own after leaving school. I knew I could never do that. I was the smartest witch of my year, but stuck in the life of tradition and propriety that I still live. Mind you, I am not complaining- well, not really. It's just that my sisters are getting on my nerves like never before. And tomorrow night's the ball. If I've not got a heart attack before then.

I'm glad I'll see Sylvia again, though. She's about my best friend, she's less angelic than Poppy, but sometimes that's an advantage. I like Poppy, I love her, she's my favourite sister, but she's so good, so nice. Sylvia is quite clever- she was a Hufflepuff at school- and even though she's obsessed by Herbology, we always got on quite well. So that is something. But the ball, now come on- really. Mr. Pomfrey is nice, alright, but he will only look at Poppy and she at him, so no interesting conversations there! As for Mr. Dumbledore, I don't even think I want to speak with that man if he were on his bare knees before me! Not that he ever will be, though, that man's pride and ego are obviously as big as his fortune is according to the gossips my mother heard; unlimited! I know I cannot judge him just because of this one occasion, but if he is the way I think he is, he absolutely is the most unpleasant man I have ever had the displeasure to meet.

Sincerely,

Minerva C. McGonagall


	4. June 10th

June 10th 1940

Dear diary,

I am fuming- I am literally fuming and guess whose fault that is? Oh right you are! Not mother's, not Rolanda's, not Sybill's, but that of the wonderful and absolutely distinguished Mr. Albus Dumbledore. I cannot believe the nerve of that man! I truly cannot... after tonight. We've just flood back in from Pomfrey Hall- it is late, and everyone is asleep, but here I sit, bowed above the yellowish pages of this book. I haven't even changed into my nightdress yet... I am still wearing my long, dark red ball gown, and mother is going to scold me, for it will be terribly wrinkled tomorrow. Not that mum wouldn't scold me anyway. She does not like me- never has. She also doesn't like Mr. Dumbledore- that almost motivates me to fall in love with him! Or wait no, it doesn't. Sigh. The ball was horrible. I am not the person to complain a lot, but really, believe me.

Mr. Pomfrey was his own, nice self. He invited us to call him by his first name, but of course we declined, just imagine! His sister was at the ball, too. Miss Leandra Pomfrey is her name, I believe. She's a little older than I am, a real flirt and absolutely after Mr. Dumbledore. Some people really are pathetic. She even wears muggle lipstick- and that calls herself a witch.

Now, everything went fine with Mr. Alastor Pomfrey and Poppy. He danced with her twice, which is, of course, the absolutely maximum he possibly could. More would have been highly inappropriate, but I can say one thing; he danced with me once, and with Sylvia, and with the younger girls, but every time, his eyes locked with Poppy's in the end and she blushed every time he smiled at her. Which was practically all the time. I'm very happy for Poppy.

Mr. Dumbledore, on the other hand, hardly danced! He sat there, in a corner, observing with this really distanced expression on his face, eating- believe it or not!- lemon drops. He just sat there, eating those ridiculous muggle sweets and humming behind his beard. Apparently, we aren't even worth a dance! Now don't tell me that I cannot judge him on something like first impressions- I've been telling that to myself for two days. I cannot stand not being fair and rightful- you know that!

But tonight, mere hours ago, I accidentally overheard a small conversation between Messrs. Pomfrey and Dumbledore, and I still cannot believe my own ears!

"Come on, Albus, I must see you dancing- I hate to see you sitting by yourself in this corner! Why don't you dance?"

And then, Mr. Dumbledore's reply:

"Alastor, come on, you know I am not much of a dancer and what's more: I am not even particularly acquainted with the people in this room. Plus: there's not really one young lady in this room I would feel like dancing with."

Now this got me quite fuming, really, but then!

"Now Albus, that's not true..."

"I must say, my friend, that you are dancing with by far the handsomest girl in here!"

This, so I saw through my eyelashes, was followed by a quite sincere smile at Poppy, who was standing on the other side of the room.

"Albus, she's a wonderful girl, that's true. But there is one of her sisters sitting down just behind you, who is very pretty, and I dare say very nice too. Do let me ask Miss Poppy to introduce you."

I saw him turn around, I felt those clear, blue eyes scan my face! And then, calm like hell, he turned around again.

"She is acceptable, but she is not really a motivation for me to leave my beloved habit of observing and my dear lemon drops behind."

That he said, that high and noble Mr. Dumbledore, about me! He preferred lemon drops above me, and he didn't even try to hide it! And I am not the one to worry about how I look too much- but I am no bad looking girl, and I absolutely refuse to be judged on the unlucky fact that I have the hair of a female vampire and the eyes of a cat! I've not been studying Animagus transformation for three months to be affronted like that! Even though I will, as Poppy jokingly says, probably become a cat or something. But that is not the point! I am neither stupid nor ugly, and I will not accept such a ridiculous judgement fromof a man who thinks his fortune and lemon drops are everything that matters in this world! Never! Never, I say!

Sincerely,

Minerva C. M.


End file.
